Sacrifice the Wicked Read Free Page B

They felt damp, swollen. Her skin prickled, but it wasn’t fear. Or all fear.
    She couldn’t deny it. A part of her, the simple woman, wanted Simon Wells.
    No, not precisely. She wanted his strength. His fearlessness. His control.
    And the Mission director she’d become couldn’t afford any of that.
    A warm bundle of fur leaned in against her ankles, as if in apology. Parker bent to gather Mr. Sanderson into her arms. His heavy weight settled into her chest, collar jingling, and the happy rumble of his purr rattled through her ribs. Stranger gone, problems over.
    Not for her.
    She wanted answers.
    The Church had them. Somewhere. As the director of the witch-hunting Mission, she should have been in on everything the research and development branch of the Church was planning. Had planned. Whatever Sector Three was doing, it affected her Mission.
    Aside from a classification hierarchy, the two directors were equal. The blasted Church law demanded it. Order of hierarchy put the bishop of the Holy Order of St. Dominic above all things, the directors of Sector Three and Sector Five—the Mission—next, and the civic body of government last. Period .
    But two months ago, Nadia Parrish had knocked down Parker’s typically apolitical door with demands Parker didn’t have the clout to deny. Simon, supposedly a missionary but trained under Sector Three’s meddling eye, had been a problem ever since.
    Along with Sector Three’s interference, names like GeneCorp and the Salem Project had cropped up.
    Words like human testing .
    Having Operation Wayward Rose end in bloodshed and disaster, end with more questions than when it began, grated Parker’s sense of responsibility.
    And her pride.
    But she hadn’t been able to learn much before the order had come down from the Church brass—destroy the data, classify everything. Hide whatever dirty fingerprints the operation had exposed.
    Parker surveyed her dark office. The drawer she’d put the folder in was still slightly ajar, but other than that, Simon made for a neat thief.
    One goal, in and out. And a kiss.
    Why? Why had he kissed her?
    She bent, let the cat jump lightly to the floor, and tried not to think about the reminder her body wouldn’t let go. She was a grown woman. She knew what the damp ache between her legs meant.
    Lust wasn’t nearly a good enough reason to ignore Simon’s loyalties.
    Her Mission. Her people. She’d had to sign death certificates for enough of her missionaries to feel responsible for every last one.
    But she wasn’t sure what to do about it. Yet.
    N othing in his thirty years of life had prepared him for Parker Adams.
    Simon’s heart pounded in his chest, a rhythmic thump, thump of anxiety, of surprise and adrenaline, and a ragged, visceral need. It had taken everything he’d had to leave that apartment—to leave her, tousled and off-balance and—“Fuck,” he rasped as he leaned against the elevator wall.
    He shouldn’t have kissed her.
    He couldn’t not . What the hell was it about the woman?
    Forcing himself to slow his breathing, his fist clenched on the railing as another surge of adrenaline lanced through his chest. Found an echo in his head.
    He’d gone in expecting a fight. Expecting to go toe to toe with her in the only way he’d stand a chance—as the kind of man even the ice bitch of the Mission couldn’t bend to her will.
    More fool him. What was it about her that left his palms sweating, his heart pounding?
    The doors hissed open.
    The lobby lights slanted through his skull like a straight razor to the eyeballs. “ Fuck, ” he repeated, gritting the word out as his senses cracked without warning. Shapes, living bodies, individuals. They piled up in his head—thirty floors of people, stacked up like the pieces in a jumbled puzzle.
    Not now.
    As pain fractured through the back of his skull, Simon staggered out through the lobby doors, grabbed a fistful of brick. The ground shifted out from under him. The folder slipped